


Blood On My Name

by iamtheoneinthehole



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Assassin!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:35:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1450444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamtheoneinthehole/pseuds/iamtheoneinthehole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted anonymously; Au ah ot6 where Michael for some reason is ordered to kill the boys and they think he, the mighty Mogar, might just do it but he'd rather die than hurt them.</p>
<p>Michael Jones wouldn’t necessarily say he loved his job… but he sure as hell was fucking great at getting it done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood On My Name

**Author's Note:**

> So this was another fic that ended up growing and evolving far beyond what I'd originally imagined it being but I absolutely loved exploring this au verse and really hope you'll like what I've done with it anon! Enjoy!

Michael Jones wouldn’t necessarily say he loved his job… but he sure as hell was fucking _great_ at getting it done.

Starting out in the ‘business’ at age sixteen, a late bloomer according to the bitter whispers he’d sometimes catch from other agents’ conversations when they’d believed he wasn’t listening, he’d gradually worked his way up the ladder from assisting to small, easy targets of his own. After sufficiently ‘proving himself’ capable of that to his bosses, he’d then been upgraded to taking on some of the more challenging targets on top of the other jobs… and with a spotless record and a swift, almost elegant, delivery of his ‘assignments’? Well it hadn’t been long before they’d been assigning him to taking out entire operations with just a few slices of his blade or bullets from his rifle. And by the time he was eighteen? Well many found it hard to believe he’d started so late because by then he was considered one of the most efficient and ruthless in his profession. And before he’d even realized it, the name ‘Mogar’ had begun to circulate certain circles in a mess of fearful, hushed whispers murmured in hallways or private meetings.

It became a well-known fact within these circles that to hear the name ‘Mogar’ associated with your name was to know you were a dead man walking. Because none escaped once you’d become one of his assigned ‘projects’. A highly skilled, quick to adapt assassin of the highest calibre and degree. Never once turned down a mission. Never once let a target get away. The highest body count in his agency and one of the most feared names amidst the circles that knew about him. Quick, deadly, efficient, ruthless… People were terrified of him.

And as time passed, his reputation had only grown into something more and more menacing to the point where grown men and women would turn pale at the mere mention of his assigned codename and a hardened agent would surrender their deepest secrets the moment they’d heard who it was their opponent had hired out to ‘take care’ of them if they didn’t. Because how couldn’t you fear a man who’d, according to the intelligence on him, been responsible for the deaths of three different partners, two of them field, one romantic, as well as countless others. It was said that even his employers couldn’t be entirely sure if their statistics on his body count were accurate or not.

Honestly, he’d killed so many at this point that even _he_ couldn’t account for all of them. He remembered his first kill, a young woman who’d been part of a drug ring, nineteen and terrified, she’d begged him to spare her, and he’d at least shown her the mercy of making it quick. He’d cried about it afterwards, alone in his apartment, away from the prying eyes of the agency… Lindsay had known though. He hadn’t known how at the time but… she’d known and she’d told him others would know too and they’d exploit it if they could… and so he couldn’t let himself feel remorse for what he did or else this agency would swallow him whole and then riddle the husk of the man he once was with bullets with they no longer had any use for him. In other words, he’d needed to toughen the fuck up in order to survive.

And so he had and after that the targets had all started to blur into one. He remembered taking out a rival assassin called Mark Nutt and the sudden rush of adrenaline he’d felt when he had… because the man had _deserved_ to be targeted. He’d committed far more atrocities than Michael had back then and wiping him off the map had given him this heady sort of feeling of an avenging sort of power, a feeling he hadn’t really felt, or at least not to that degree, since. And so he remembered it.

The other deaths he remembered were the deaths of his partners. The deaths that’d branded him both as ‘the best’ and ‘heartless’, the deaths that kept most of his would be rivals away, the deaths that kept his future potential targets up at night… of course what those people didn’t know was that all three had been moles from rival agencies with the name ‘Michael Jones’ as the next target to cross off their list. And knowing that when he’d been given their names in turn, the choice to take them out really hadn’t been all that hard of a decision to make…

But he never bothered to correct the misconceptions about his reasoning there because let the world think he was fucking heartless if it meant they stayed off his fucking back. Because that kind of brutality struck far more fear into the hearts of his rivals and enemies than any kind of prowess, with blade or knife, ever could. After all, everyone in their profession could wield a gun or a knife and most of them to levels that made them almost unimaginably lethal… but when it came to those they cared for? Most of them wouldn’t _dare_ to turn around and make the kill.

Then again, Michael had never really fit in the fucking check box for ‘most people’.

And it still wasn’t a job he loved… but he had his orders and knew better than to question them because the moment he did that, or failed to deliver a hit, he was fucking painfully aware that someone else would rise up through the ranks to take his place and take him out. Everything in this line of work was fucking temporary, you had to fight your way up to it and then keep fucking fighting. Plenty were gunning for his position after all (some more literally than others) and honestly he was pretty fucking sure the only person in the agency that _wouldn’t_ happily shoot on sight in order to take his position was Lindsay… And even _that_ wasn’t a certain bet.

Because while the woman was many things; skilled, a good conversational partner, fucking great at video games, even better at intimidating new ‘agents’ and pretty much the _only_ person he’d worked with that he’d ever even _consider_ trusting… she also had the second highest body count in the agency for a fucking reason because god fucking knows no one managed to amass that kind of number without stabbing a few people in the back first.

There was a reason his own name was one whispered with fear through the halls after all. Four years back now and he’d been safely positioned at the bottom of the heap in this place, constantly underestimated, barely even noticed, doing recon for other agents… he hadn’t moved up through the ranks just being pretty and pretty damn skilled with a rifle after all. He’d fought his way up, _quite fucking literally_ and the blood on his hands was far from just exclusive to the assignments he’d been given. And now he was at the top of the pecking order, the problem was that he was perfectly fucking capable of toppling back into utter obscurity, or worse, at any moment. And all it would take was just one carefully aimed bullet to send him there.

Many had tried to knock him down from his position before now. With ‘impossible’ orders or elaborate plots to sabotage missions he happened to work. With more overt cases of backstabbing, conveniently placed explosives and decoy missions for whenever there was something darker and more sinister in the works… and Michael had managed to foil every last fucking one of their attempts to the point where no one, except for the occasional trigger happy idiot, really dared to challenge his position anymore.

But Michael was under no fucking illusions either that any of that would last if he ever _did_ decide to abandon his post or one of his assignments, knew that the moment he did he’d be a fucking dead man walking, a free for all target, kill the mighty Mogar and become the agency’s new best and brightest… perhaps it’d even be Lindsay that ended up taking him out.

He’d never really given that too much thought though because, until very recently, even if he hadn’t ever really _loved_ his job, he’d liked it well enough not to consider abandoning his post anytime soon.

After all, the wages were pretty fucking incredible and the job’s requirements just so happened to correlate pretty damn effectively with Michael’s specific ‘skill set’. The hours weren’t too bad, what you got up to outside the job was your own fucking business and if he still occasionally got a flicker of that certain sort of twisted _rush_ he got from taking out a few of the targets that were perhaps a little more… well _worthy_ of his services, well no one needed to fucking know about that either did they?

So while he’d never really loved the job, he hadn’t ever exactly minded it… Not until now anyway when he’d been given his latest assignment.

Five names; _Geoff Ramsey, Ryan Haywood, Gavin Free, Jack Pattillo, Ray Narvaez Jr…_ the five names of the men he’d made the grave mistake of falling in love with over the last two years.

He’d met the first three during one of his missions. Michael had been scoping out a target when an idiot with messy, sandy brown, hair had barrelled into his side suddenly, immediately throwing off the visual he’d had on his target. And so Michael had turned on the man, fully ready to all but fucking scream at him because couldn’t exactly chase after his target to catch up with him, not without drawing some seriously fucking unwanted attention to himself… perhaps even the attention of the target himself. And wouldn’t that just be fucking _great_ if he managed to fuck up an easy to take care of, low level target just because this jackass hadn’t been watching where he was fucking going… Fuck knows Lindsay would never let him live it down.

But then he’d gotten a good look at the guy and realized hey, he was actually kind of cute, in a sort of boy next door meets British twink sort of way… and the apologetic babble he’d started up the moment they’d collided only seemed to add that really and… well, the target could always be taken care of later. He had the guy’s schedule fully mapped out in his head after all and if he caught him later, along with the mistress the agency had assessed as a potential threat? Well, then he might even get a fucking bonus for the work he did here.

So he’d ended up sticking around to chat and casually flirt with the man for a while, a man who’d introduced himself as Gavin Free… and wasn’t that a strange sort of fucking novelty, being so freely offered another’s genuine identity when they’d only just met. He was so fucking used to referring to people by their code names, given the fact that he didn’t socialize all that much outside of work and often it took months within the agency, sometimes even years, before anyone would trust you enough to give up their real names. Lindsay usually went by Ruby, himself by Mogar. He’d also worked with ‘Yang’ and ‘Weiss’ for a hell of a long fucking time before he’d been able to call them Barb and Kara… and there were countless others who were still nothing more than code names to him and probably always would be… So to be given the name ‘Gavin Free’ straight off the bat, and to see in the man’s eyes that the name was _genuinely_ his own… well it’d been refreshing to say the fucking least.

On top of that honesty, the Brit was funny in the kind of ‘loveable dumbass’ sort of way, though Michael could tell he played that part of his personality up for laughs… and to be fair on him, it fucking worked since within about ten minutes of conversation, he’d managed to get a fully trained assassin in hysterics over some dumb question he’d asked him and suddenly Michael was really fucking glad he’d decided to stop and talk to this man because it’d been far too fucking long since he’d laughed like this and talking to Gavin had definitely turned out to be _far_ more fucking rewarding than finishing off the assignment he’d been given would likely prove to be...

And he’d honestly been about five minutes away from actually asking the Brit out for coffee sometime when the other two men had showed up, one of them immediately draping a possessive arm around the man’s waist while the other levelled him with a look of obvious scrutiny and _of course_ a man like Gavin was already off the fucking market.

Honestly, it was probably better for the Brit’s sake that he was. After all, the people Michael dated usually ended up bitter, wounded or dead since everything he touched relationship wise seemed to turn into an utter cluster-fucking-fuck-up, sooner or later. Because if his orders didn’t get them, the absence from plans they’d made or the secrecy of his chosen profession would.

Michael’s longest relationship to date had been the partner that’d turned out to be a rival agent that wanted him dead, and even that had only last a couple of months so… his track record wasn’t exactly fucking stellar to say the least.

No, these two men would be infinitely fucking better for him than any potential fling with Michael would be. The tattooed man with an arm around his waist was obviously fiercely protective of the younger man and, based on the stance he took when sizing up to Michael, clearly possessed military training of some kind. The stance wasn’t obvious of course and clearly subconscious but… with what Michael did for a living, he knew how to spot a threat when he saw them and, with a gun in his hand, this man could clearly _seriously_ do some fucking damage if he wanted to… _good_. It was a dog eat fucking dog kind of world out there, even away from the front lines of battle, perhaps even more so, and men like Gavin Free were the kind that usually got fucking eaten alive by it unless they had someone to look out for them. And this man sure as hell looked like he could protect him from that, or at least give it a pretty good fucking go.

It’d been the other man that had _really_ caught his attention though. Because there was something in the guy’s scrutiny that almost reminded him of the looks he’d catch Lindsay sending his way sometimes. Friendly enough on the surface but with just the slightest edge of coldness to it, cold and calculating, like she was figuring out how likely he was to lash out at her, in what ways if he was, and exactly what it’d take to take him down if he did... And it was a look he knew was probably in his own eyes as he met the man’s gaze with an unwavering scrutiny of his own… And clearly he’d noticed, at least in part, given the way the man’s brow had furrowed for a moment, even as an easy smile came to his lips and he introduced himself as ‘Ryan Haywood’.

Something about that introduction hadn’t rung quite as true as Gavin’s but he hadn’t openly questioned it, simply cataloguing that information away in a corner of his mind to review later if necessary as he’d offered the man his own name, shaking his hand with a firm grip that’d bordered on painful, on both ends, before moving to shake the other man’s too. Geoff Ramsey… now at least that name seemed to ring fucking true in his ears.

They’d ended up talking for a while after that, the two men quite obviously staking their claim on the Brit for the first few minutes while Michael fought back to urge to roll his eyes as he made it painfully fucking clear, though still somehow without clueing the Brit in about their silent interactions, that he wasn’t going to fucking try anything with him now that he knew he was taken. After all Michael was an assassin, not a fucking douchebag. And once that’d been cleared up, Geoff at least seemed to ease off a little, the conversation flowing back into something more pleasant, fucking cordial even, and by the end of it even Ryan had joined in, though he still shot Michael the occasional glance, almost as if he were expecting the redhead to lash out at them or something… perhaps the man just had good instincts, Michael mused, they did say after all that some people could take just one fucking look at you and know there was blood on your hands.

It was something he’d always been capable of after all. Then again, given the line of work he was in that was hardly fucking surprising was it?

As much as he’d liked talking to them, they’d eventually had to part ways since he seriously fucking doubted the target would be nice enough to shoot himself for him and he still had unstated, but heavily fucking implied, deadlines to match so he’d taken off, though not without somehow winding up with both Geoff and Gavin’s phone numbers… Not quite it the context he’d been hoping for of course but… perhaps it’d actually be nice to have a few friends outside of his work for a change, to have people in his life he could actually even _call_ friends considering that his existing ones mostly just consisted of people that’d just been kind enough not to make an attempt on his life… yet. So, against all of his instincts and better fucking judgement, he’d saved the numbers to his phone before finally leaving to head after the target he’d been tracking earlier.

Throughout the rest of that evening though… he hadn’t quite been able to escape the feeling that someone was watching him… and perhaps even trying to take him out. It’d been something he’d completely fucking failed to anticipate of course, because who the fuck would this guy actually have on side to take him out? The target was low profile for a reason after all; no known allies, no real power, no one to even fucking miss him so long as they took him off the grid now and not later… so how the fuck would he have had the funds or the connections to hire an assassin for _his_ assassin?

Whoever the stalker was though, they seemed to be keeping their distance (for now at least) and unless that changed anytime soon, Michael had a fucking job to do. This shadow of his could fucking wait until there was a hole through his targets head and blood splattered across his upmarket hotel’s fancy flooring.

It’d taken roughly an hour to get the man and his mistress in prime position for the sniping and, after that, mere seconds to take them both out. She’d died first with unadulterated fear in her eyes that clearly spoke of the fact that whoever had considered her a threat had probably spewing fucking bullshit and a terrified scream on her lips as her partner heartlessly used her as a human fucking shield. He’d died seconds later with a slightly more controlled, almost defiant, fear in his gaze… though the wet patch that’d formed over his crotch, clearly visible even from where Michael was positioned on the roof opposite, still showed him up for the coward Michael had always fucking suspected him to be. Most minor drug lords were after all the moment they saw that little red dot on their chest telling them it was all over.

Since he’d been one of those targets who’d really fucking deserved it, at least in Michael’s books given how fucking selfish those last moments of his had been, it’d been with a certain rush of satisfied adrenaline coursing through his system that he’d turned to confront his shadow, daring the person to show themselves if they actually wanted to fucking challenge him or make some misguided attempt to avenge their assumed employers death… but the shadow hadn’t done either, merely smirking a little from their position in the darkness, vanishing moments later into the night.

And Michael knew he probably should’ve given chase but… he’d waited long enough to carry out these fucking orders that any more delays in returning to base for his next assignment would probably place a severe dent in his reputation within the agency. And the last thing he needed was new recruits getting fucking cocky with him. Especially since he’d already pissed the bosses off last month for putting the last four that’d tried that in the med bay with broken limbs and the necessity of an IV drip for several weeks afterwards. So, with a slightly bemused smile on his lips, he’d simply packed up his stuff before taking off into the night himself, arriving back at base less than an hour later to debrief and pick up the next job he’d be working.

It’d only been hours later that he’d had the chance to check his phone but when he had, he’d been surprised to find six messages instead of the usual three (his mom, Lindsay and the bosses with his next assignment).

The first had been from Gavin, saying something about how it’d been nice meeting Michael earlier and if he ever wanted to follow through on the promise to kick his ass at Halo sometime then he should let him know. The second had been from Geoff with a similar offer and a mention of something called ‘game night’ which he could apparently tag along to if he wanted. The third had been the one to surprise him though.

It was from an unregistered number and simply read; _Nice meeting you today. Hope you don’t mind I borrowed your number from Gavin’s phone since we never did get the chance to exchange ours earlier. If you’re ever around Austin again, be sure to let us know. Pretty sure the boys would love to grab coffee with you sometime and I’m not exactly against the idea. You’re actually kind of cute for a guy we met outside Walmart- Ryan_

Michael had found himself surprised by the comment, even more so by the happy smile that’d come to his lips in response to it because perhaps he’d been wrong before when he’d assumed he’d gotten those numbers for purely platonic reasons…

Needless to say, the next time he’d been in the area, he’d taken the man up on his offer. In fact the four of the had gotten quite a lot of fucking coffee that’d quickly turned to… well, just plain fucking over the following months. They’d kept it as a strict ‘friends with benefits’ sort of deal,  since Michael had made it abundantly clear from the outset that didn’t want anything emotional weighing him down (or putting them at risk), not that he’d used those words exactly since he liked to think he had a little more fucking tact than _that_... And the others had respected that, come to appreciate it even because with Michael’s job being as mysterious as it was and with the redhead almost always disappearing off the radar after their hook ups, sometimes for weeks at a time, it was definitely a hell of a lot easier on all of them if feelings weren’t involved. Plus the sex was fucking great and the friends that he could actually trust thing was just as fucking novel as he’d imagined it being.

Lindsay had known straight away though when he’d started up the arrangement. Thankfully she hadn’t known who with but… the fact was that she’d still noticed and had, naturally, been curious about it. And while she’d respected his privacy enough not to ask outright, a part of him still feared her uncovering more about the men, even if he did supposedly ‘trust’ her… trust was relative in their line of work after all and was easily, and frequently, broken when it suited them.

At least she’d been kind enough to warn him about any visible hickeys though, whenever he’d arrive at base after a night with his boys. It was something he’d done for her before when she’d had her last fling and the two of them shared a sort of fucked up solidarity in that; in that they’d both ended up losing partners to this job and so they knew the risks and tried to shield each other from a repeat performance of them wherever they could. Because both he and Lindsay both more than understood the price this agency could and _would_ make you fucking pay if you grew too attached to someone considered as a ‘distraction to work related duties’, Lindsay more so than anyone in that respect since it’d been her pacifist fiancée who’d been taken out, unjustified, without orders, just to secure her loyalty and shield her from his perspective on morality… Worse fucking part was, they’d made her deliver the final, killing blow.

And considering it was that or watch him slowly bleed out as they’d tortured him to death… what she’d done had been fucking _merciful_ more than anything… and how ridiculously fucked up was that? And it’d been Michael that’d tried to warn her, tried to save him and very almost stuck his own neck out on the chopping block in the process. It was for that reason, and that reason alone, that they’d really managed to form this bond, this ‘trust’ of theirs.

Because Lindsay fucking _owed_ him and they both knew that and the trust he had on her was mostly just the belief that one day she’d pay that debt.

The point was caring, in this profession, even on a fucking platonic level, was hardly an advantage and honestly Michael knew, whatever claims he made to himself, how many fucking times he tried to deny it, his emotions had started to run far fucking deeper than just that… and the longer he continued this affair with these men, the more fucking danger he was putting them in. He knew that, he’d always known that and yet… Michael was fucking selfish and couldn’t find it within himself to call it off.

Especially after Ray and Jack had joined the arrangement.

He’d known about Jack for a while before he’d become a factor in the relationship, the man working alongside Geoff as one of his co-workers at the online gaming company the man worked for, a place known for producing something called ‘Red vs Blue’ (that Michael seriously fucking meant to check out some day, whenever he had the downtime necessary to do so) and that had ended up hiring Gavin as a director after years of the Brit’s unwavering admiration for the series. It’d been how he and Geoff had first met and now how they seemed to be falling in love with Jack...

And when Michael had finally met the man face to face? He hadn’t really been sure what to fucking make of him at first. After all, he knew at this point that man had become a part of these men’s actual _relationship_ whereas Michael was still very much in the ‘fuck buddy’ section of their dynamic and… well chances were, if this man wasn’t interested in him the way they were, that’d be fucking it and he’d wind up alone again and honestly it should’ve set off fucking warning bells in his head there and then when he’d realized how genuinely terrified he actually was of that outcome.

But as it turned out his boys had fucking impeccable taste, or maybe just a penchant for finding people with some kind of subconscious death wish, because Jack and Michael had really ended up hitting it off. And a few hours later when they’d all been tangled up in the sheets, basking in the afterglow as Jack traced his fingers along Michael’s back, he’d known with a certainty that his position in whatever sort of fucked up relationship this was wasn’t about to be challenged anytime soon.

And Ray had been a hire the company had made months later as they’d, apparently, started to span out into new territory. He’d been hired just shortly after Ryan, who’d they’d apparently _finally_ been able to tempt away from his old job to help them set it up and… well suddenly he’d felt a little alienated from the relationship. Because here these boys were, working together side by side in a job they fucking loved instead of one they just fucking pretended to, openly admitting they had feelings for each other and maintaining a healthy relationship while Michael shut off and catalogued away all feelings that weren’t lust and killed people for a living and…

He knew in hindsight that he should’ve walked away right then, knew they’d have wound up a lot fucking safer now if he had… but the day he’d resolved to try was the same day he’d finally met Ray face to face, the same day he’d kissed the man for the first time and the first day he’d kissed the rest the way they’d always fucking _deserved_ to be kissed… because he’d honestly thought he’d be saying goodbye that day and he was too fucking weak not to allow himself this one last moment with them before he walked out of their lives and finally allowed them to fucking move on and have the relationship they’d always deserved, one that didn’t have him in the middle of it fucking it up...

Only problem was once he’d let his barriers down around the men like that, all of theirs that he hadn’t even fucking realized were there had suddenly dropped too... and he could fucking see love in Gavin’s eyes, feel in in Jack’s touch, in Ryan’s kiss… and when Geoff had asked him in the afterglow a question none of them had dared to ask after that first coffee date, the one where Michael had made it so fucking _abundantly_ clear he didn’t do relationships or feelings, he’d wound up doing the exact fucking opposite of walking away... He’d ended up committing to them.

And just like that he’d taken five innocent men and painted huge fucking targets on their foreheads…

Really, he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised with the orders he’d just been assigned. If anything, he should be amazed it’d taken them so long to figure this out. Because Michael Jones was in love with these men, he’d been seriously fucking emotionally compromised for a while now, and what better way to test his loyalty or break his spirit than by ordering him to take them out? Either way, at least one of his bosses would be happy with the results they received.

And belatedly he realised he should never have settled on that whim of talking to an attractive stranger outside Walmart one day over doing his fucking job, should never have allowed himself to get close to him or the men he loved, should never have allowed himself to fall in love with them as well... Because either way now this mission would leave an irreparable bullet wound right through his chest.

The only real question now was whether or not it would be him or them who’d be pulling the trigger.

\----

Even though he’d had more than just idle fucking suspicions about why these men were being targeted, he’d still felt the need to double check his facts though. Because a small part of him still couldn’t help but hope that maybe this was like what’d happened before. Maybe his boys weren’t innocents in all this, maybe they’d moles for another agency all along like the last time someone had gotten too close… the only problem was he was pretty fucking sure this time knowing they were traitors wouldn’t make this any fucking easier than knowing that they weren’t.

Because either way, someone would be betraying someone if he decided to go through with this… and regardless of the way that turned out, he was pretty fucking sure that betrayal would actually wind up breaking him a little.

All the same, he had to check, had to be prepared… and so he’d gone to the one person who’s Intel he could actually trust; Lindsay Tuggey.

“Okay so here are the basics. You know Edgar? Big guy, creepy fucking smirk, pretty huge on the torture then take out circuits?” Michael had nodded, more than a little aware of the fucking psychopath that usually worked those missions, and worked them alone as far as he could tell since apparently he could make the people he targeted break all too easily all on his own… and since most of the others who worked that division worked in pairs? Well, needless to say Edgar’s name was just about as infamous as Mogar’s when it came to hushed whispers along agency hallways… Which meant whatever shit his boyfriends had managed to land themselves in, it _seriously_ wasn’t going to be fucking good if _he_ was involved.

“I’m familiar with his work.”

“Well apparently the Haywood guy, Ryan, knows something about him that he _really_ shouldn’t. And since it apparently pretty seriously compromises certain departments within the agency, they want him taken out as soon as possible. No pomp, no ceremony, just dead as soon as fucking possible since the dead don’t tell tales... or code six level secrets for that matter.”

“Code fucking six? Fuck… no wonder they want him dead.”

“Yeah no shit Jones and since he may well have shared the Intel with his partners, those men are the other names on your list by the way, they want them all gone. That way there’s also less people to mourn when he suddenly falls of the map. Because after you’re done, they’re doing cover up. Seriously cover up I mean they’re pulling out all the big guns on this… why else do you think they assigned their top assassin to a job with someone that’s basically more Edgar’s business to deal with than yours… I mean clearly those two have some kind of history. Fuck knows what though, none of the Intel’s clear on that and everyone knows there’s no one dead or alive who was ever capable of making Edgar talk about these things. But yeah, they’d picked you so… clearly this is some pretty fucked up stuff you’re dealing with here so… just remember to watch your back Jones since I can’t promise to be there to watch it for you with this one.”

And with that she’d left Michael alone to his thoughts, most of them honestly centring around the relief that no one in the agency, not even Lindsay herself, seemed to know he was involved with the men (nice to know really that the painstaking efforts he’d taken to hide their relationship had actually fucking paid off there) before quickly flickering over to a sense of curiosity surrounding Ryan’s involvement with Edgar because, as far as Michael knew, the man’s tendencies were a little too sociopathic to pursue any kind of romantic relationship or even a friendship really but… then how the fuck had they known each other if not that?

All he knew at this point was that his mind kept settling back over the look that’d been in Ryan’s eyes when they’d first met, the look that’d spoken volumes about the fact that he could practically sense the blood on Michael’s hands… and while he’d passed it off at the time as nothing more than good instincts? Perhaps it was something more than that… and suddenly Michael almost found himself wishing that he’d never even bothered to fucking ask because fuck knows things had been simpler when he’d just believed the agency were targeting these men because of him.

But whether he liked it or not, now he knew. Knew exactly why the agency wanted them gone, knew Ryan was hiding _something_ from him, though was that something was he had _no fucking idea_ (and it wasn’t as if he could fucking judge him for hiding whatever it was anyway since fuck knows he had more than a few skeletons tucked away in his own, practically bursting at this point, closet) and now he knew he had to make a choice based on that knowledge.

Because the agency expected results and expected them quick so whatever he did, he only had a seriously fucking limited period to do it in before they’d sic Edgar on the boys and fuck knows, whatever Ryan had or hadn’t done, he didn’t fucking deserve _that_. None of them did.

And as Michael had sat there, considering the possible scenarios, he’d realized whatever Ryan _had_ done didn’t fucking matter one little bit… because he was still Ryan Haywood, one of the men he’d fallen in love with, and the same went for his other boyfriends and… well at the end of the day Michael had never fucking loved his job anyway.

So really, in the end, the decision hadn’t been all that fucking hard to make because really, what other choice was there than to choose them?

\----

It’d been the middle of the night when he’d suddenly shaken his boyfriends’ awake, eyes alert and determined as he’d told them they needed to fucking leave, _now_. And all it’d taken was Edgar’s name for Ryan to suddenly spring into action, quickly rushing their boyfriends out of bed, getting them dressed, grabbing food, grabbing weapons Michael hadn’t even realized were hidden around the flat and then helping him get their boyfriends out of the door and into a vehicle as fast as fucking possible…

It still hadn’t been fast enough.

“Ryan take the others and fucking go. I’ll hold them off.”

“Fuck that-”

“Geoff I know you’ve been on the front lines but trust me, I’m more fucking qualified for this. And if we make it out, I’ll explain why but now you have to fucking go before more than just his asshole arrives and we’re all fucked just… _please_.” And something in his words or expression must’ve managed to sway Geoff a little because a few choice words later and he was ushering Gavin and Ray towards a vehicle, Jack quickly following in their wake. Ryan though remained stubbornly at his side, “Ryan I’m fucking serious, get out of here.”

“You told Geoff to go because you’re more qualified for this than he is and you’re right, you are. But that’s never been the case with me and a part of you’s known that for years now.”

“What the fuck do you-”

“Didn’t you ever wonder about your shadow on that night after you first met us?” And suddenly it all made fucking sense to him. Because of course Ryan had been an assassin. That’s how he’d been able to spot the blood on Michael’s hands, because he was so used to seeing the blood on his own and… how the fuck hadn’t he realized this sooner?

He didn’t have much time to muse on things after that though because apparently Edgar was tired of waiting and suddenly there was a blade arching towards him and gunfire echoing through the alley as back up arrived and were he any other assassin, Michael would summize that he was most likely fucked here… in fact, for a moment the thought actually _had_ crossed his mind that they still might be. But then one of Edgar’s back up had fired a bullet that’d hit Ryan’s shoulder and suddenly Michael saw fucking _red._

Because fact was, he was fucking Mogar and half of the men and women in this alleyway had been far too fucking terrified to even consider challenging him before he’d gone rogue. And honestly? He considered it only fucking fair that he reminded them now exactly _why_ they’d been so fucking scared of him. Concentrating their fire on Ryan had been their first and last _serious fucking mistake here_.

Because a ‘heartless’ Mogar was terrifying enough but go after someone he loved? And he became fucking _lethal._

The sniper to his right had been the first to go, carefully aimed blade to her skull, dead on impact, a bullet to the brain of the man next to her, dead on impact. Then he’d been charged by one of the newbies who clearly had failed to fucking learn the basics of the operation he worked for if he thought sneaking up on Michael was a fucking _dagger_ , of all fucking things, would actually work.

Once the kid got close enough the dagger was dropped and suddenly the kid was in a chokehold, Michael keeping him there as a human shield until the body was riddled with bullets, before leaving him to collapse to the floor, bleeding out and close to dead. One bullet to the head and he was gone (as he’d said before he was a killer, not a fucking psychopath). Then it’d been two more headshots, knife to the ribs, knife to the heart, knife to the head, bullet to the chest followed by headshot, knife to the side of the skull.

And suddenly ‘backup’ was more hesitant, choosing to stand back and watch Edgar fight Ryan rather than wade in themselves. But they’d still fired at Ryan, and fuck knows they’d have happily killed him if Michael hadn’t intervened… so if any of those fuckers thought they were walking away from this alleyway, they were sorely fucking mistaken.

In the end, the only one that’d managed to run was Edgar himself, and only then because a couple of the agents had made some sort of suicide pact and charged the man, the temporary distraction providing the man just enough time to escape since Michael had been far too busy sniping down other agents to worry about the man he was certain Ryan had covered until he’d turned to find the two dead agents at the man’s feet and an expression that bordered on fuming written across his boyfriend’s face.

Under any other circumstances though… that expression would’ve been seriously fucking hot and Michael couldn’t really deny the white hot thrill he’d gotten moments later as he’d gotten to _really_ watch Ryan in action. He almost made it look like a fucking art form, the same way the man made almost everything look effortless and easy, displaying a precision with his kills that Michael had never seen in any assassin; in his agency _or_ a rival one.

And as the final body fell, Michael couldn’t quite help the way he’d surged up to meet Ryan’s lips in a harsh, messy kiss, allowing the man to pin him against the wall as they’d rode out the adrenaline high together in a mess of harsh breaths and rough, wandering hands and bites so harsh that the marks they left would last for days and god it felt _so fucking incredible_ to finally have someone to share that high with…

But it’d quickly worn off after the initial thrill as they were suddenly left to track their remaining boyfriends down, provided they’d even made it out alive.

Neither dared to voice that thought though as they’d taken off from the alleyway, carefully evading the numerous ‘eyes’ of their former bosses as they’d slipped through empty and abandoned side streets and alleyways before finally arriving at a place where Ryan was pretty sure Geoff would’ve taken them. Because apparently, back when he’d started a relationship with him and Gavin, Ryan had still been working in his old profession, though he’d just started to get out of that lifestyle and had quit it cold turkey by the time he and Michael had first met.

The point was, at the time Ryan had been paranoid, and rightly so, about dragging those he cared for onto to his bosses’ radar. And so he’d told Geoff he was secret service, only partly a lie really, and said that if anything ever happened to bring his work home with him, there was a safe place he knew of where the man could hide, an abandoned warehouse that they wouldn’t think to check for a while, not before checking a good few other places first and certainly not before Ryan had found them.

And when they’d arrived, it’d been with the sight of Geoff at the entrance, gun pointed out into the dark towards any potential threats and honestly, with the stony expression that’d been on the man’s face, he’d been pretty convinced for a good few moments there that the man was fucking planning on shooting them… not that Michael would necessarily blame him for that since fuck knows the other four would have a much fucking easier time of it if he and Ryan had never wandered in their lives.

But then Geoff had spotted them and suddenly there was an expression of pure unadulterated _relief_ crossing the man’s features as he’d slipped out of the warehouse, meeting them halfway and pulling them both into a bone crushing hug that Michael had all but fucking _melted_ into.

And the moment they’d stepped inside, Ray had been in his arms pressing a short but desperate kiss to his lips, hands gripping his shirt tightly as if he were scared he’d slip away if Ray dared to let go... and then Gavin had barrelled into his side, hugging him a little tighter than he’d, honestly, believed was even humanely possible. Jack had been the last to approach, having gone to Ryan first while the lads had greeted him. And the man had hesitated for all of a millisecond before he’d pulled Michael into a gentle hug of his own before pulling back to assess any possible damage the agents had managed to do out there.

Other than the lightest of bullet grazes to his arm, that Michael honestly hadn’t even realized was fucking there until Jack had pointed it out (probably another side effect of the adrenaline still coursing, in part, through his system) and a few cuts and bruises, he was honestly fine. And Ryan was almost as good, other than the one bullet wound to his shoulder that’d sparked Michael off into that initial rage in the alleyway, though it’d barely broke skin and certainly wasn’t lethal. It just hurt like a bitch. Apparently he’d had worse though and, given the way he’d fought in that alleyway, Michael could sure as hell fucking believe that.

And after Jack had patched them both up and they’d all calmed a little, they’d settled down to explain to the boys exactly what they gotten themselves into here when they’d decided that he and Ryan were ‘boyfriend material’.

Michael had gone first, keeping his explanation blunt and to the point as he’d focussed his gaze on a particularly interesting patch of floor. Because even if they’d been pleased to see him alive, they might not be quite so pleased once they’d realized exactly why and with what training he’d managed to survive back there. He’d explained about his job, the agency, even admitting that he was one of the best and with good reason and by the time he’d admitted to occasionally _liking_ it he was certain he’d lost them forever… maybe with the exception of Ryan though.

But as he’d looked up to finally meet his boyfriends’ gazes, he’d been surprised to find not revulsion but… well quite a bit of shock and perhaps a little hurt, though whether that was about the fact he killed people for a living or the fact that he hadn’t fucking told them sooner that he killed people for a living? Michael couldn’t really be sure. What’d really caught Michael off guard though was the understanding reflected in all of their gazes, and beneath that a love that he’d always known was somewhat unconditional… but had never realized just how much until now.

And for the first time since that first assignment he’d had, the first time in fucking _years_ now, his eyes were watery, tears threatening to fall as his voice finally cracked over the words ‘I’m sorry’.

Moments later he was in Geoff’s arms, the older man murmuring soothing words into his curly hair as he ran his hands in comforting patterns along Michael’s back and maybe it was the fucking _relief_ that was making him do this, the relief that none of them seemed to be rejecting him, that they actually still fucking _wanted_ him even after knowing all he’d done, because suddenly he couldn’t stop the tears from falling. And so, for the first time since he was sixteen years old, naive and terrified of the world, Michael Jones had cried. And this time, no one had judged him for it or called him fucking weak and really that was almost as liberating as the truth being out there and accepted itself.

And after Michael had calmed a little, enough for Geoff to pull back and them all to settle back into their makeshift circle on the warehouse floor, it’d been Ryan’s turn to take to the confessional floor.

It turned out, as he’d suspected, that Ryan had been an assassin, one of the top assassins working at the time Michael had first joined the agency for that matter… which had honestly thrown the redhead a little because surely he’d have recognized his fucking name the first time they’d met if _that_ had been the case, wouldn’t he?

Because the codenames had only been introduced shortly after Michael had started there. It was why Edgar went by Edgar instead of some sort of pseudonym and surely Ryan would’ve been in the same damn boat, especially considering the fact that he’d taken off not long after that… but then the man had admitted to the fact that Ryan wasn’t actually his real name; his real name was _James_.

And suddenly it’d all made sense because Michael was more than fucking aware of the James that’d worked for the agency before him. Hell, it’d been his body count that Michael had aspired to topple during his first two years at the company. The man had been infamous, legendary even. He’d been considered an assassin among assassins and many had still claimed, even after he’d left the agency, that he’d always be the best of the best… and after seeing the man in action, Michael could _definitely_ fucking attest to that.

He’d gone on to explain the atrocities he’d committed as ‘James’ and how he’d ended up eventually being assigned Edgar as partner on some of his jobs. Apparently the two had worked well together, better than any other duo in the agency’s history up to that point, and Ryan had almost felt like he could trust the man… _almost._

And then he’d made a discovery that’d proven just how misplaced that trust had been when it’d suddenly come to his attention that Edgar had started taking out assassins within their own organization. At first, he’d assumed it was an ‘eradicate the competition’ thing and hadn’t bothered to investigate it too much… but then he’d realized the man wasn’t just going after those who dared to challenge his position and, after a little digging, he’d discovered why. Because apparently one of their bosses had gone rogue and had begun to take down the agency from within.

It hadn’t been too long after that before James had decided he’d wanted out. After all, he hadn’t wanted to end up being the next name that cropped up on Edgar’s list, nor had he wanted to serve and agency willing to toy with those they employed like that and so, little by little and then all at once, he’d gone into hiding, gone on the run, changed his name to Ryan, established himself a whole new identity, a new life that was as far fucking flung from his old one as physically possible.

And then of course he’d met Michael and realized that there really was no fucking escape from this, not ever.

Apparently, he’d initially believed Michael had been sent to kill him. That the reason he’d been flirting with Gavin was because he’d known he was one of Ryan’s partners and had wanted to fuck with him a little before he’d finished the job. It was why he’d shadowed him that night. To make damn sure that it was him Michael was after and that, if it was, it was just him and not Geoff or Gavin too. It was why he’d smirked after he’d realized Michael had a different target to take out and why he’d immediately loosened up around the man afterwards. He’d just had to be sure first and really, Michael could hardly fucking blame him for that.

And after he’d finished up his explanation all that’d really been left to ask about the man was whether he preferred ‘James’ or ‘Ryan’, to which the man had claimed he’d respond to either but… he hadn’t been proud of the man he’d been when he’d been James, not because he’d killed but because he’d killed alongside someone as fucked up as Edgar and hadn’t even questioned it until it was his neck on the line. He liked ‘Ryan’ better because as corny as it sounded (and god did it sound fucking corny) he’d been the one who’d fallen in love and it’d made him _better_.

Corny or not though, Michael had known what he meant because love had certainly made him think and feel in ways he’d never dared to since he was sixteen and he was pretty fucking sure that the change was a good one, that he _was_ somehow not good since he was pretty sure neither he nor Ryan would ever really be able to slot into that particular category. But, all the same, he was somehow still _better_ for being with them.

So really, it was no real fucking surprise that they’d been so relieved when Ryan’s backstory seemed to be accepted just as easily and as unconditionally as his had been and really, they had the best goddamn boyfriends in the whole fucking world because after that the main concern raised wasn’t anything to do with what they’d told them other than how the hell to get Edgar and the agency off their tails.

And suddenly, for the first time since he’d seen those names of that little piece of paper, Michael had found himself feeling something that, up until this point, he hadn’t _dared_ to feel about this situation and their chances of survival… Because for the first time as the he caught sight of the serious fucking determination and the love reflected back at him through his boyfriends’ gazes... he finally allowed himself felt _hope._

\----

It’d been two hours later that Edgar and a few other agents had finally managed to track them down and, by then, they’d already been more than fucking ready for them.

Michael had singled Edgar out this time, leaving Ryan and Geoff (since his military training wasn’t so rusty that it couldn’t be of some kind of use here) to fend off his back up, as well as looking out for their boyfriends who had considerably less experience in situations like these.

As he’d fought Edgar though, he was pretty sure he’d spotted Gavin help wound one of the men that’d been about to fire at Ryan and he was absolutely fucking _certain_ he’d seen Jack tackle Geoff out of the line of fire at one point shielding the man with his own body until Ryan had managed to land a bullet in the agent’s hand, and a second in their chest, leaving them to bleed out since the bitch far from deserved a quick fucking death after that.

He hadn’t been able to catch much though because Edgar kept him pretty fucking busy and suddenly Michael could more than understand how this man’s name had become one of those fearful whispers uttered across the agency’s hallways.

Because the turns of his blade almost possessed the same twisted _art_ to them as Ryan’s had and certainly he seemed more than capable of matching Michael, especially after he’d landed a blow to his shoulder and suddenly it was becoming harder and harder to fight back as his knife arm grew more and more lethargic to the point where he’d almost dropped it…

And suddenly there’d been a knife in his stomach and Edgar’s smirk as he finally dropped his own to the ground and he was pretty fucking sure all of a sudden that this was it, that he was going to fucking _die_ here…

But then the man’s smirk had slipped from his face as he began to cough up blood and, as he’d looked behind the man, there was Ray Narvaez Jr, shaking a little as he’d pulled the blade from the assassins throat but with something akin to bloody fucking murder burning in his eyes as they’d both watched the body drop… and then he’d quickly been at Michael’s side crying out to Jack to help him shift the other bodies out of here so he could call in an ambulance because he didn’t fucking care if Jack was good with a needle, none of them were fucking qualified to deal with this shit.

At least he’d known not to try and move Michael though with the knife still lodged in his stomach and it hadn’t taken long for Jack to dispose of the dead and for Ryan and Geoff to draw off the others elsewhere as Gavin and Jack, the only ones who technically hadn’t killed anyone (even if they’d helped a little) were left to stay by his side as Ray, begrudgingly, took off into the night after his other boyfriends just minutes before the ambulance had fucking _finally_ showed up.

\----

They’d been so fucking lucky.

So fucking lucky that Edgar had been more interested in dragging out Michael’s suffering rather than killing him straight off the bat, so fucking lucky that they’d reached the hospital in time, so fucking lucky that they’d actually fucking _bought_ the ‘mugging’ story long enough to fix Michael up and luckier still that no one had seemed to notice the two men wheeling him out of the back on a hospital bed afterwards (and really, the people who worked here must be _seriously_ fucking oblivious when it came to their patients to have actually managed to miss _that_ ).

They’d ended up quickly relocating to another warehouse after that, this one a little better hidden and a good three states over from home since four of them either already were, or would soon be, wanted criminals and _all_ of them were still on Michael and Ryan’s old bosses’ hit list.

But they’d ended up having unanticipated help on the inside. Because apparently it’d been Edgar who’d taken out Lindsay’s fiancé and now, as far as she was concerned, she owed the boys doubly so for what they’d done and tried to do. Plus, in her own words, it was _her fucking pleasure_ to see the bosses squirm a little, especially knowing that one of them was the one who’d been responsible for this entire damn operation. The last time she and Michael had spoken, she’d sworn to him that she’d find the asshole they were looking for and _make them fucking pay_ for what they’d done to them. Then, she claimed, she and Ray would be even... and if she happened to take apart the operation, piece by piece, from the inside in the process. Well, she guessed that’d clear her debts with Michael too wouldn’t it?

To think all this time he’d believed he couldn’t trust her. Never had Michael been more relieved to be so fucking wrong about a person… well maybe it came in just after the relief he’d felt when his boys had accepted him, shitty history and all, but those were the men he loved so really he’d probably always favour their reactions, surprising or unsurprising, over anyone else’s.

And speaking of his boys, they’d certainly come a hell of a long way since they’d first started this life on the run. As it’d turned out, Ray was a fucking natural with a blade (which had honestly surprised no one after his quick thinking in the alleyway that’d both taken out Edgar and saved Michael’s fucking life) and Gavin turned out to have surprisingly good aim with a handgun once he, Ryan and Geoff had taken the time to train him up a little. And of course Geoff already had his military training, but Michael still couldn’t help but note the way his skills had seemed to sharpen and improve as time passed and they continued to move from place to place, ruthlessly dispatching any those who were unlucky enough to catch onto their scent in the process.

Jack had been a little more reluctant when it’d come to taking up arms, the man still having considered himself as more of a pacifist than anything where their situation was concerned… But then he’d seen his boys in danger one too many times and after one particularly taxing confrontation, where Gavin had almost bled out from a bullet wound, he’d finally snapped. After that he’d put in countless hours of training with both Ryan and Michael, honing his skills with both blade and gun until he was arguably almost as sharp as they were. Plus his hand to hand combat was practically fucking unparalleled once the man’s protective instincts kicked in and honestly, Michael was pretty sure the man was pretty damn close to making a name for himself that was almost as well fucking known as theirs were.

And as for him and Ryan? Well they kept their skills fresh the only way they knew how, frequently getting into sparring matches with each other that would, more often than not, rapidly end up spiralling into a different kind of _sparring_ … not that Michael was going to fucking complain about _that_ anytime soon.

Point was, they kept themselves sharp, alert and ready for fucking anything and honestly, at this point, Michael was pretty damn sure that they would be.

And did he have any regrets that things had to be like this? Well, maybe. Because sometimes it was fucking painful to see the innocence his boyfriends had once had gradually fade from their eyes and know that _he_ was, at least in part, responsible for that (because Ryan would always be quick to point out in those moments that this was a burden that both of them had to bear since it’d been _his_ history with Edgar that’d actually brought the agency to their fucking doorstep). But it was far better than the alternative and that was what helped Michael sleep at night.

As far as the effects this had on his own life though? He practically had no regrets whatsoever because he’d never necessarily loved his job, had hated it sometimes even… but he loved these men. Unconditionally and more than anything in this whole goddamn fucked up world. And he’d go to fucking hell and back before he let anything or anyone hurt them.

Because he may have been fucking great at his job once but, as it turned out, protecting those he loved was what Michael Jones did fucking best.


End file.
